


Beautiful Surprise

by tryslora



Series: Running From Lions [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Light Angst, Mpreg, Multi, New Years, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt to catalog magical artifacts turned into an unexpected marriage with the surprise loves of his life. Draco has no idea why he expected planning for children to be any easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> So. Back in 2012 kitty_fic convinced me to try writing this trio when she prompted for a fic for the rareparefest. I wrote the first in this series then, and the next inspired by a prompt for samhain_fest (although it wasn't submitted because series!). I got the inspiration for this fic from another of kitty_fic's prompts for the wizsprogs fest at the end of the year, and I planned to write it for the holidays THEN, and totally failed to do so. Two years later, the series is finally complete with this silly bit of fluff and light angst. Happy Holidays to all!

Draco picks at the croissant on his plate, his stomach tilting uncomfortably. “The marmalade smells off,” he mutters, pushing the plate away.

“Smells fine to me.” Harry speaks around a mouthful, grinning as he chews quickly and swallows. 

“I haven’t liked marmalade since just after Halloween.” Hermione nudges a tin towards Draco, and he picks it up and takes a cautious sniff. “It’s a chocolate hazelnut spread,” she says. “It’s Muggle, and it’s brilliant, and I could eat it every morning.”

“You _do_ eat it every morning,” Harry points out, and Hermione nudges his shoulder with a light thwap.

“A pregnant woman’s body is completely overset by hormones,” she says, tone light even as she lectures. “Sense of taste, smell, and even touch can be turned around. I normally love tea, but it smells terrible to me right now. My father’s cigars are horrid, I can’t go near marmalade and sorry, Harry, but the idea of kissing you after you eat treacle tart turns my stomach.”

“That hardly explains why the marmalade smells off,” Draco grumbles. “I _like_ marmalade, and every tin Glich has brought to the table this week has been off. It has been a terrible week.”

Hermione takes the discarded croissant and wedges her thumbs into it, breaking it apart and leaving flakes on the plate. She takes a bit of the spread and puts it on one piece. “Try this instead.” She offers it to Draco who takes it with a delicate twist of the tongue, laving the tip of Hermione’s finger on the way by.

The chocolate explodes across his tongue, leaving a deep, bitter nuttiness behind, the buttery croissant coming in a distant third. Draco reaches for the spread and knife, putting it liberally on the remains of his croissant. “This is good,” he says. “This is very, very good.”

“I told you so.” Hermione’s chin tilts up, lips pursed in a pleased smile.

“If you’re so in tune with each other, maybe you’re pregnant, too,” Harry offers with a laugh.

Draco goes cold. He lowers the last of the croissant to the plate, looks at Harry and raises one eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“It was a joke, Draco.” Harry caresses the nape of his neck. “If you’re eating the same things as ‘Mione, and getting your stomach turned by the same things as well… just seems like you’re going right along with her in this pregnancy thing. Which is impossible.” He brushes a kiss against Draco’s lips, and Draco has to respond, falling into the taste of his husband the way he always does. Harry draws back when they’re done, pushing to his feet. “I promised I’d be in early this morning. I’ll see you both for dinner?”

“I’ll make sure Glich prepares something that will appeal to Hermione,” Draco says, that chill still wrapped around his gut. Harry leaves in his usual flurry of motion, and once he’s gone, Draco realizes that Hermione is still sitting there, staring at him, even though it’s time for her to leave as well. Fear pricks at the base of his spine. “What is it?” he snaps, his tone almost reminiscent of the days before they were involved.

She takes his hand and raises it to her lips, kisses his fingertips. “Harry forgets he’s a wizard sometimes,” she tells him. “And I suspect I didn’t think through all the ramifications.”

His lips purse because now that Harry has made a joke of it, the situation has become all too obvious to Draco. “Apparently neither did I,” he says dryly. “But in my defense, I was under the impression that the fertility spell was applied soley to _you_.”

“You were the one impregnating me.” Her smile tilts up. “It only made sense to have it affect you as well. We just didn’t think it would affect you like this.”

Something twists in Draco’s gut and suddenly the chocolate spread seems fit to return. He closes his eyes and wills the sensation to pass, the feeling of Hermione’s fingertips against the back of his neck anchoring him.

“Perhaps you ought to see my healer,” she suggests. “I’ll owl him now. I’m certain you can make an appointment for later today.”

“You have work—”

“I can miss it. After all, we need to make sure we know everything before we surprise our husband.”

Draco is only certain of one thing: he has not been able to know _everything_ ever since Hermione and Harry barged into his life last spring. Unexpected marriages, surprise planned children and very unplanned pregnancies. The Manor is nothing like it once was, and sometimes he finds it very difficult to accustom himself to exactly how much his life has changed.

#

Draco stands on the balcony, a cup of tea cradled in his hands, heating his skin as he inhales the first scent in days that hasn’t turned his stomach. He returned from his appointment with enough tea for weeks for both himself and Hermione, along with an assurance that drinking a cup before each meal should assist with any digestive disturbances.

He has also been assured that his pregnancy is progressing nicely, and that he is in no danger. “In fact, Mr. Malfoy, you are amazingly fit for a pregnant wizard,” he mutters to himself. “Because of course, when you combine pristine pureblood magic, the brightest witch of our generation, and the Boy Who Lived, you can work miracles.”

“Talking to yourself?” Harry’s voice precedes his footsteps, and Draco inhales roughly, drinking the remains of his tea before he straightens to look at his husband. Harry joins him, sidling up shoulder to shoulder to lean on the balcony before he puts his arm around Draco’s back. “Halloween was a good night,” he says idly. “I’ve been thinking, maybe we ought to entertain for the holidays, too? We could have a party one of the nights between Christmas and the new year. Or we could host for New Year’s Eve, but I’d been thinking I’d rather have you and Hermione to myself that night.” Harry grins wickedly. “Not that a crowd will necessarily _stop_ us.”

Draco goes warm from head to toe, remembering the feel of Hermione in his arms, balanced on the balcony with her feet wrapped around him as he drove into her, while Harry drove into him from behind.

Of course, that particular memory is the root of all his problems right now.

“Did Hermione send you up?”

“That’s not an answer.” Harry buries his face in the crook of Draco’s neck, nipping at his skin. “But yes, she did. She said something about you wanting to talk to me?”

There’s a tightness to the lilt of the question, and Draco can’t blame Harry for it at all. They rarely have the need to separate from one another where matters of grave seriousness are involved. They have been three since the beginning, and there are no particular angles to their formation. “Hermione and I spent the day together,” he says quietly by way of explanation. 

“Have you decided it’s time to toss me out on my arse?” Harry’s tone is purposefully light, and it irritates Draco from head to toe that Harry might actually _believe_ that.

“No,” he grumbles, turning so he can wrap his arms around Harry completely, pulling him in to kiss him deeply. “Do you remember what happened when we were last here?”

“Vividly.” Harry’s fingers slide beneath Draco’s robes, fitting over the ridge of his hip. “Are you looking for a repeat? Did you honestly spend _all day_ in bed? I heard that pregnancy makes a woman…”

“ _Be quiet_.” Draco silences him with his mouth, lingering over the kiss while he teases at words in his mind, tries to find the right way to say it. “You fucked me,” he whispers against Harry’s lips. “While I fucked Hermione to get her _pregnant_. You cast a fertility spell and you fucked it into me.”

“And our ‘Mione’s pregnant with a little Malfoy who will _not_ be a spoiled brat.” Harry grins into the kiss while his hand manages to slide lower, cupping the erection that Draco can’t seem to help. “What’s the problem?”

Draco’s head falls forward because he just cannot believe sometimes how utterly _obtuse_ Harry can be. “And you thought _I_ was inobservant,” he mutters. “I’m pregnant.”

The hand stills just before Harry manages to cup Draco’s balls. He looks up, startled, meeting Draco’s gaze. “That’s not possible.”

“ _Please_ remember that you’re a wizard, Harry.” Hermione’s voice rings out from the shadows, her heels clicking on the floor as she approaches. “I know, I was going to let you talk to him alone, but then I had this horrible idea that things could go badly.”

“Which they are,” Draco says dryly. “You know us so well.”

Harry just stands there, his hand trapped inside Draco’s pants, blinking into the dim light of the balcony. “Men don’t get _pregnant_.”

“When fertility spells are involved—not to mention bonding magic and wizards and witches of a shocking amount of power—yes, they _can_. And do.” Draco frames Harry’s face. “Do keep up, love. We are not having one child as a family, we are having two.”

Harry blinks twice. “I don’t know if I want to fuck you again or pass out,” he admits, and Hermione laughs, wrapping her arms around Harry from the other side.

“Pregancy hormones aren’t a joke,” she whispers with a soft laugh. She captures Draco’s hand, lifts it to her mouth and sucks his fingers in, teasing with the tip of her tongue. “Last one to the bedroom doesn’t get a blow job.”

She pulls away and is gone with a twist and pop.

If Draco takes advantage of Harry freezing in shock to ensure that he arrives next, it can only be blamed on hormones. And yet, somehow Draco and Hermione end up both going back to collect him and stripping naked on the balcony instead. There is no one but Glich to shock in the manor, and after all these months, the house elf knows well when to avoid his masters. Beds are lovely, but not needed, not when love is more important than location.

#

Draco’s robes lie on the bed, a soft grey trimmed in deep green. He purchased them at the end of the summer, long before the need for winter formal robes, and long before he knew he’d be hosting any kind of gathering twice in a matter of months. 

Long before _this_.

He presses his hand to his stomach, tries to see whether it has begun to curve outwards and show the truth of the child that he is carrying. He brings his other hand up, spreading both across his abdomen, frowning down at his skin.

“You can’t tell, Draco.” Hermione’s words whisper against his cheek, her arms going around him to hold on tightly. “A pregnant woman begins to show for her first pregnancy some time between the third and fifth month, depending on a number of factors, such as height, breadth of the hips, and weight. I suspect a pregnant man may show sooner—particularly one such as yourself with your narrow build—but it hasn’t even been two months since conception. I think you’ll have your figure for a little while longer.”

“And if I put on my new robes and they don’t fit?” It’s unreasonable, he knows, and yet it is still a fear. Draco relies on image, and if he cannot present the image that he is prepared to show, then he’s not entirely certain if he wants to present any public image at all.

“We are not canceling the party simply because you have nothing to wear,” Hermione chides. When he still stands there, not sure what to say, her expression falls. “Are you embarrassed by us?” she asks softly.

“What? No.” The words come quickly as he turns towards her, cradling her face in his hands. “While what we three have is unexpected, and certainly unusual in the pureblood world, I do not treasure it any less for that. Why would you ask?”

“Because there’s a simple solution.” Hermione picks up his robes and shakes them out, holding them in front of his body. “If it doesn’t fit, we adjust it. And you tell our friends exactly _why_ they don’t fit, and you go out there proud to be carrying a child.”

“One does not simply magically _adjust_ couture,” Draco says, vaguely horrified that she’d even suggest such a thing. Proper robes are _tailored_ , made perfect for the body that wears them.

“Then one buys _couture_ that is made to adjust itself,” she responds sharply. “How do you think pregnant women manage, Draco? Do you think that they spend their lives with a seamstress tucked away in the closet to make the minute changes that are needed day by day as a baby grows? We buy clothes that are _made_ for pregnancy, and if you want the best, Draco, then you will buy the best. And for now? We will do what we can with what we have, and you will look utterly brilliant, as always, right up until the moment that I find a place to strip you properly and have Harry do what he will with you so that I can watch. While our friends are nearby, and you are trying not to scream.” Her smile is soft and brilliant as she sets the robes down then slides closer into his arms, her hand gentle against his cheek. “We’ll go shopping after tonight. But for now, get dressed and don’t worry about what you look like. If you have a small bump, I’m proud of that. I’m thrilled to say that my husband is pregnant, and that I’m pregnant, and that we’ll be bringing children into the world together.”

The words she says strike deeply into him, like well-placed knives. He goes stiff at first, then relaxes into her touch. “I’m not ashamed,” he whispers, because it worries him that she could think that of him, that Harry might think that of him as well. “But I don’t want to get _fat_ , Hermione. I don’t want to look odd, or wrong. I don’t want people to point.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “If they point, it’ll be to say _look what magic wrought_ and to be impressed that you and Harry have that much magic between you. And it’s not _fat_ , Draco, it’s _pregnant_. Do you think I’m going to be ugly when I get larger?” Hermione arches one eyebrow and waits.

“Of course not.” His hand falls to her stomach, still covered with clothes. “You’ll be beautiful.”

“Exactly.” A slow smile starts. “And if you think there is _any_ chance you might consider worshipping my pregnant belly—and other parts—with your tongue, I suspect that your husband will be more than willing to do the same while you’re carrying _his_ child and I will quite happily join him in that effort.”

There’s a swift stirring of interest from his prick. “You’re wearing too many clothes to be worshipped at the moment.” He manages to nudge up her jumper, slide his hands beneath to touch warm skin. “On the other hand, you do need to disrobe before you will be able to dress properly for tonight.” He kisses her, lingering over the taste and the way she sways against him, his now-hard prick nestled in the soft, sweet heat between her thighs. “Where _is_ our husband?”

“Draco, have you seen my… I thought we were getting ready for the party?” Harry walks in, his cuffs pulled together but missing the cufflinks that Draco had laid out on a table. “Not that I’m arguing the change in plans.”

“Our Hermione wants to be worshipped.” Draco trails his tongue along the line of her jaw, then to the sensitive space behind her ear. Beneath the jumper, he finds one nipple, pinching it lightly.

“So does Draco.” Hermione’s words are breathy and high-pitched, ending on a moan.

He tugs her jumper over her head, unhooking the lacy bra and placing that to one side as well. He hears Harry undressing behind him, then moves as Harry tugs him into an embrace, kissing him hungrily. A hand cups his hard prick, strokes the length as Harry murmurs, “You started without me.”

“All it took was a thought,” Draco admits. “I want your mouth on me.”

Harry’s grin is wicked. “I can do that.” 

He nudges Draco back onto the bed, lying down with his legs splayed. Draco expects the swipe of a tongue along his perineum, but not the way it traces back to his hole, licking with sloppy, wet kisses. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, then he has no chance to say anything else as Hermione straddles his face.

Her slit is already wet and musky, dripping as he holds her hips and keeps her from suffocating him between her thighs. He dives in, teasing at her swollen clit, stroking it and suckling before he pushes his tongue into her, fucking her as hard as he can. She grinds down against him, whining when it isn’t enough, urging him to move.

It helps him to focus on her, rather than on the way Harry already has a finger inside of him, fucking him slowly while he opens him up with his tongue. He tries to pay attention to slicking his fingers in her fluids before he gently rubs around her arse, sliding a finger in to the knuckle while he stretches long fingers and lets two more slide through the slick sweet puffy lips. He manages to get two inside of her, and she rotates her hips, grinding back against him while he flicks his tongue over her clit, teasing until he feels her shudder through an orgasm.

Draco hesitates then, not sure if he should continue; when she grabs his wrist and leans back, shoving his fingers even more deeply inside of her he knows not to stop.

He can’t say anything, but he tries to beg with the way he moves, pushing down against Harry’s tongue, twitching when there are two, then three fingers inside of him. He whines, the soft sound vibrating against Hermione as she whimpers, and Harry laughs softly. Fingers close around his prick, stroking him until he hovers at the edge of orgasm and Harry lets go, refusing to let him fall over the cliff.

Draco manages to get his mouth free, grunts, “I can get it up again, you sodding prick, just let me come.”

Instead of answering, Harry grabs a pillow and shoves it under Draco’s arse, helping lift him into position for Harry to fuck into him, driving deep with a single thrust. Harry circles Draco’s prick, holding the orgasm at bay until Draco cries out, body arching and lifting with the need. He is panting and desperate, and Hermione pulls back, places a finger against his slick, wet mouth.

“Shh,” she whispers.

Hermione lifts one leg and pulls away, his fingers sliding free of her body with a wet _pop_. She turns around to face Harry, her bottom round and her body still slick and open. Draco watches as she grabs his prick and positions him, letting him slide through her swollen lips and deep into her body as she lowers herself. She kneels over him, her bottom open as well, and he swipes his thumb through her fluids before pressing it against her hole, loving the gasp when she opens for him and lets him in.

She rides him slowly, body lifting and descending, swallowing him in. He knows she is close from the way she shudders, thighs shaking, and he can’t help himself when Harry drives deep inside of him; his orgasm slips free, almost an afterthought when he spurts inside of her and she keeps rocking against him, not letting him escape.

Hermione settles her hips close to him, rocking very slightly as she clenches down on him, and he is surprised that it doesn’t hurt. He wonders if this is pregnancy hormones, that he is still hard within her despite the fact that he just came. Then Harry rolls his hips, and Draco forgets everything other than the fact that he is fucking her and being fucked, and he loves his husband and wife more than anything he has ever known.

The world slows down as Harry lavishes love over Hermione, kissing along her throat as she tilts her head back to bare it for him. Draco reaches for her, cupping her breast with his free hand, teasing at the nipple and offering it up to Harry to lick while Hermione whines with pleasure. 

He wants to feel her break apart over him, wants to drive her to the edge and beyond. He wants to watch as Harry drives her mad as well, until she cries out, shaking and shivering, body holding on tightly to him. Draco slides his hand down over her abdomen—where she carries his _child_ —into the slick space where he can find her clit, just barely flick it before she is screaming their names, fingers reaching for him, holding him there while she fucks herself on his prick.

There’s a low groan, and Harry buries himself deep inside of Draco, pulsing thickly, and it’s all he can stand. He comes hard this time, shaking and body bowed, filling Hermione with his seed.

He gathers them both down to him in the aftermath, curled together on the bed in a tangle of want and aftershocks.

Eventually they have to dress for the party, but there will be time for that. Right now, he wants nothing more than to stay like this as long as he can.

#

Draco holds a glass in the air, waits for a hush to descend among those on the dance floor. His ballroom is alive with activity, Gryffindors dancing with Slytherins, and those of all houses laughing with mirth as the year draws to a close. He smiles slightly when Harry nudges up behind him, hand falling to press against his abdomen.

“Your robes fit,” Harry murmurs.

“For now.” Draco turns his head, just barely able to kiss Harry from this position. “Come with me to buy new ones. You could use a change in wardrobe.”

“We’ll all go together,” Harry promises, and Draco will accept that. Some things are simply best done as a family, and presented as a thing that society should accept rather than discuss.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, a child’s thin cry rises, and when Draco looks over, Lavender’s head is bent over the baby at her breast, a long pale brown curl almost hiding the suckling infant from view. It is the perfect opening to his speech, and Harry casts a quiet _Sonorous_ so that Draco will be easily heard.

“A child’s cry ushers in the end of the year and heralds the new one that is to come,” he says, his glass held in the air in silent toast. “It is fitting that new life is the call for our new lives as friends, and as family. It has been a year of new things, of accepting that our lives are no longer what they were as children, and rejoicing in the changes that have been wrought. It has been a year of welcoming joy back to the halls of Malfoy Manor, and of welcoming the first of our next generation.”

“He’s only a bit early,” Harry murmurs, the spell catching his whisper to carry it out over the room. Laughter wafts back.

Hermione joins them both where they stand, smiling gently at Ron’s flush. “Don’t worry,” she tells him, easily audible as she leans close to Draco. “Your child will have friends.” Her hand falls to her belly. “Our family has good news to bring in the new year. We will have children of our own. Both Draco and I are expecting.”

She steals his spotlight, but Draco can’t feel it in him to resent her the moment. Not when she puts her arms around him and kisses him soundly, then drags Harry to her for a kiss there as well. When Harry leans into Draco, mouth dragging over his, pulling a moan that is amplified from his lips, their friends laugh.

“Go find a room,” Pansy calls back. “But please, do remember to end the spell first.”

Draco feels the flush in his skin, knows that he is warm and pink across his cheeks, but Harry doesn’t give him time to worry about it, kissing him again while Hermione nuzzles at the back of his neck. “Room, now,” he whispers, amid laughter as Harry ends the spell after he speaks.

Propriety demands that he stay at his party, that he interact with his guests and ensure that no fights break out between old enemies who have become somewhat reluctant friends. But they will sort themselves, and he has already made his peace with the past. He wants to make these halls ring with laughter and joy, and he wants to spend the start of the new year as he hopes it will continue, with his husband and wife.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


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